Thought and Memory
by Cadavatar
Summary: Loki has faced his punishment from a jury of his peers in Asgard, and now tries to avoid the punishment undoubtedly waiting for him on Earth. In order for that to happen, he's going to need to lay low. Post Avengers, Loki/OC
1. Dreams

It was the falling dream again.

"_Don't let me go!" She shrieked, watching the ground come up too fast. He was reaching for something. It was small, and round, and just out of his grip. She knew he had to let go of her, but she tried to stop him. "Please! Don't let go of me!" But he did, and they separated. She saw him shoot into a forest. She angled toward the plains._

Most people woke up when they hit the ground. She didn't. Instead, she would slam into the dirt, ricocheting and bouncing along like a flat stone over a calm lake, tumbling until she rolled to a stop. She used to scream too, but now she's used to the pain. Most people also have the luxury of not feeling pain in their dreams, but she isn't counted among that crowd either. She's a bit unlucky like that.

_She was splayed out on her back like an anatomical diagram, legs spread, arms open. He leaned over her, his face obscured. He was muttering something as he checked her vitals, and then kissed her forehead as she stirred. "Midgard? Why Midgard?"_

Some nights that's when it would end, but as she got older there was more to it than that. There was a sequence, a montage of sorts that made no sense. She was in feudal Japan, wrapped in a light kimono, practicing calligraphy. She was in a tree overlooking the plains, watching impala being chased by pale shadows of lions in the grass their fur color mimicked. She was in India, drinking tea and being waited upon by tan women who brushed her hair and washed her feet. She was sitting on the back of a camel, rocking side to side as they followed a caravan through a vast, never ending desert. And the man was always there, always within arm's reach. He was always alert, watching, waiting. He was looking for something. Other times he'd merely look at the sky and smirk, like he was sharing some private joke with the sun.

"_I want to go home." He looked tired, this man she knew. He brushed hair out of her face, and she knew her hopes made him ache. "Let's go home." She whispered, and he shook his head. He said something, she watched his lips move, but the words escaped her hearing. Then there was searing pain that made her scream, it was all over her, burning into her skin and the bones underneath. He whispered how sorry he was, how he was only looking out for her. Then he'd carry her, and sit her down somewhere. She was left alone to burn._

She'd wake up then. Sometimes the dream would stay, swirling in her mind for the few moments between sleep and conscious thought. Other days it'd vanish as soon as she woke. But she'd never remember all of it. She'd only remember the searing pain in the end, a scar so strong on her psyche it blacked out everything else.


	2. Heart

It was going to be an interesting morning at work. Call it intuition, call it keen observation, or call it obvious because there was a police car parked outside. In any case, as she slammed her truck's door shut, she decided at that moment she really didn't want to go in. Maybe if she turned around and went back home, no one would notice. Maybe the events of the morning were so interesting that they would forget all about her.

A moment of quiet deliberation passed before she sighed, her breath looping through the frosty air like smoke. Money. Money was her motivation for everything, it seemed. Stepping in through the back door, she quickly pulled off her coat and adjusted her uniform, making sure she looked presentable. A quick tug on her ponytail to tighten it, and she emerged from the storeroom to see what was going on.

"About time you got here. You better have clocked in when you got here, not when you were supposed to." Her boss muttered, shoving a plate of eggs, hash browns, and bacon into her hands. The older woman's eyes were glued on the two officers in the corner booth, who were talking in low voices to a rather sallow man across from them. She hazarded a glance over, and the man glanced from the police to her. The skin around his eyes was sunken and splotchy, but his eyes themselves glinted and shimmered. She'd seen enough drunks to know that _he_ wasn't- his eyes weren't glazed or dull. But she barely gave him another thought, instead concentrating on her work, looking to see where she needed to take her order.

Once she got back from doing that, along with cleaning another table, she leaned in to talk to the cook, a man who was so unpleasant she actively tried to ignore his name. She'd ask someone else, but despite him being the most unpleasant person she knew, the cook was the only person that didn't irritate her. Besides, the other waitresses were all busy; either flirting with another customer or on their smoke breaks. "So, ah... What's going on?" She asked with awkward obliviousness.

"Wouldn't pay for his meal." The cook shrugged, and she turned to look again. The man obviously was poor, he wasn't even remotely dressed for the weather. His clothes looked almost threadbare, his hair greasy and unwashed. But he held his head up like he was above the men across from him, a gesture the officers took offense to.

"So the hag called the police?" She raised an eyebrow and the cook snorted in reply.

"She'd squeeze a quarter out of a baby given the chance." He reminded her, nodding to the sign taped to the soda fountain that reminded customers that water wasn't free and all refills were seventy-five cents. The woman was a money Nazi.

Biting her lip, the girl looked at the man, who had crossed his arms and had an indignant expression on his face. "What are they going to do with him?" She asked, a nervous tic kicking in where she pressed her thumb into her opposite palm.

"Probably just throw him out, unless he keeps giving 'em that face." The two of them snorted despite themselves, and he gestured to a couple that entered.

She served them their menus and drinks, and by the time she got back the officer pair was in a deep conversation with her boss. Saying she didn't want to eavesdrop was a lie- she liked knowing things, so she cleaned the counter very slowly as they spoke in hushed tones. She wished her hearing was better, as she could only catch snippets.

"No identification, he doesn't..."

"Well what do you want me to... Trying to run my business..."

"Maybe you should just... It's not like he..."

"DO YOUR JOB!" The younger girl jumped, even when she realized she was not the one being addressed. Glancing at the man in the corner, she realized he was no longer there. A quick inhalation of breath and she looked around, trying to see where he went. The bell on the door hadn't even chimed to show he left- or had it? She wasn't paying attention. She was certain it hadn't though- either way, he was gone.

Aside from the explosive argument between her boss and the police that ensued after they discovered the man had vanished, work was slow. She clocked out just when it was starting to get dark and climbed into her truck with a sigh, shivering at the cold. She wanted to go home and shower, she smelled like burnt hash browns and bacon grease.

As she started the truck she paused, glancing at the bed. She thought she saw something, but it might have just been the wind blowing over the canvas cover. About ten minutes down the road she suspected something again, and with a sigh she drifted a bit and aimed for the nearest pothole.

The loud thumping noise and the head-shaped bump hitting her canvas was enough to make her pull over, and she turned off the truck before going back to open it up.

It was the man from the morning, and he raised his hands in surrender at her. "Oh, balls." She groaned, and she stepped aside. "Get out."

"I didn't mean to alarm you, I just-"

"Get out." She repeated, and with a huff he climbed out of the truck bed. A glance over him made her realize he had no shoes either, just the thin black undershirt and pants that obviously weren't denim. His eyes still looked the same, with the sunken yet defiant look. Her mouth formed a hard line. "Just what are you-"

"I'm in love with you." He stopped her mid-sentence, and she raised her eyebrows. He continued. "Ever since I saw you this morning. Your hair, your eyes, your smile. I fell in love, and-"

She wasn't sure what to do other than hit him, really. He fell right over from it too, which made her feel bad because hitting a crazy person generally was frowned upon. He sat on the ground for a moment, stunned. "I. Er. I'm so sorry." She considered her next option, fist still suspended from where it connected with him. "Do you... Have a caregiver? Maybe someone I could call that knows about your... Condition?"

He merely rubbed his jaw and stood back up. "That usually works." He muttered to himself, and then his gaze hardened as if he'd remembered something.

She realized that he wasn't crazy; he was just trying to fast talk her into giving him another chance. "Oh, oh. Then you can just walk home." She half laughed at him, stomping back to her truck and slamming the door. She started up the engine again and looked up, only to see he was now standing in front of her, the beams of her headlights glinting off of him.

She honked her horn, but he did nothing. She inched forward. He stood his ground. She frowned before rolling the window down, popping her head out. "Get out of the way!" She groaned, already growing tired of him.

"I'd rather not!" He shouted back at her, obstinate.

"I'll run you over!"

"No you won't, or you'll have to deal with your petty policemen!"

"I'll call my petty policemen!" She retorted, thinking she had him.

"And I'll tell them about the bag of illegal plant matter you have in your glove box." He snapped right back at her, crossing his arms over his chest. She bit her lip and grew silent. "And considering what I heard from your boss complaining, rather loudly I might add, when you were late this morning, they'll probably believe me."

She was stunned into silence. Even when he disappeared from her headlights, opened the passenger side door, sat down, and buckled himself in, she was still stunned. She merely put it into drive, and, in sullen silence, continued down the road. He warmed his hands in front of the heater. "What do you want?" She finally asked, and he grinned. She didn't like it. His teeth were too white for a homeless person. More like a sociopath. His eyes were starting to fit the description.

"Oh nothing too demanding, I assure you. I won't harm you. I just want a bath. A bed. Food. Until I can regain what I've lost, in any case." He busied himself with looking out the window as she clenched her teeth.

"I'll call the police. I'm sure they'd overlook _pot_ if you were blackmailing me."

"And what makes you think they'd capture me? I eluded them rather well this morning. Illegal substances are such a grey area for the straight and narrow these days, they'd likely come to the conclusion you here hallucinating." He sounded so smug it made her seethe.

"Do I at least get a name, Mr. Asshole?"

"No..." He considered, thinking. "'Sir' will be fine for now. And you, Miss. Waitress?"

"Ophelia." She spat, turning left into her house's driveway. "Why me?" She muttered under her breath as she turned off the car and got out. She missed his response, or at least the thought she did.

'Because you have heart' made no sense to her.


End file.
